


Sober

by ticioleo



Category: The Libertines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 11:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5742733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticioleo/pseuds/ticioleo





	Sober

// 11:56 p.m.

Gary’s in for the night, I surmise from my perch on the hotel armchair.  He’s wasted, and when I stand up he gives me a loose hug of empathy.  “Sorry, mate,” he slurs, slapping my back too hard.  He’s half-covered in some sort of clear plastic glitter.  “Have fun?”

“’M fine,” I mumble, but I choke on the sudden hunger that swells at the back of my throat.  My tongue paralyzes in the cradle of my jaw and my arm fixes around Gary’s back.  I instinctually press my nose to the slope of his shoulder and I smell sweat and exertion up the lines until, hanging at the bottom of Gary’s round lip, that seductive hook of fragrance impales my senses with its glorious nuances:  Bushmills Black Bush. 

The round fruity sweetness, piercing and deep, followed by a warm, smooth ribbon of cinnamon and sherry.  I’m heady, dizzy, tongue now swimming as my salivating glands work in overdrive.  I pull back, gasping; hastily I place a pace between us, eyeing Gary with a half-open mouth.  “Just, glad you had a good time.  Wouldn’t want you to miss out on the evening’s festivities.”

“That Alyssa page three girl was asking about you,” Gary grins evilly, leaning back against the wall to steady himself. “Wanted to come back up but I told her you were asleep when I called.”

“Yeah, nice, thanks.  Not really up for it at the moment.”

“Yeah.  Plus I didn’t want to hear you two going at it all night.”  Gary climbs on the bed, struggles out of his shirt.  I watch him twist his broad back from the tight black fabric.  My hands shake and I turn around to the hotel’s collection of Evian bottled water.  I lick my lips and take one, only to immediately put it back.   I mutter, “I’m going to take a shower.”

 

// 12:32 a.m. 

Hot water pelts me.  My throat aches.  I tilt my head back and think of the scent hanging, luscious, dark, provocative, from Gary’s lips.  I swallow nothing, hands shaking as I rub them up and down my naked arms.

My feet shuffle on the ground, tiny pulses of water racing toward the drain of the tub.  I puff a shot of breath out of my nose and my mouth opens, gasping.  The flat shock of water where whiskey once was stuns me and I choke, sputtering onto the wall in front of me.

“You okay?” I hear through the wall.  My heart skips a beat. 

“Yeah,” I grunt loud enough so Gary can hear over the spray.

I need out of this fucking cell. 

   
// 12:48 a.m.

An empty bottle of tequila has appeared on the shared bedside table.  Gary pauses the television at a familiar voice. 

“You could’ve brought her up yourself,” I offer, breath hop-scotching out of my chest, as Gary stares at the television.  “I know Alyssa, she’d’ve jumped at the chance.”

“Eh, I have no need of her tonight,” Gary waves off with his hand.

A sudden, rabid rush builds around my shoulders, filling the hollows of my palms, pressing me onward toward the bed.  I catch my throbbing heart in a quick gasp and ultimately sink forward, startlingly bulletproof, kneeing onto Gary’s mattress.  “Because you’ve got me, yeah?” I say quietly above the roar.

Gary tilts his head back, resting it on the smooth wooden headboard. He grins.  “That’s right.  ‘ve got the infamous Carl Barat all to myself tonight, don’t need anybody else.  You’re enough of a fucking handful.”

“Besides,” I grin back, voice lowering beneath the white noise.  “’ve had her. She’s not as soft as me." 

Gary raises an eyebrow.  “You sure you’re not fucked up?” 

I don’t know how to answer that honestly; as I consider, however, Gary continues more softly:  “So how’d you have ‘er, then?”

My hand grasps the edge of the blanket and my lips curl upward in a smile.  The scent is heavier now, it’s caught me again; it hangs, a mist almost, as I approach Gary’s prone body, and my mind collapses back onto the memory, swirling dust and whiskey and clouding my vision.  I wonder briefly whether I should lie.  “Fucking dominatrix.  Tied me to the bed and pounded it out.”

“Nice.”

I refocus on Gary’s eyes, which are now on my face.  They’re smooth whiskey brown, soft and sedated and intriguing.  Like a shot of Jameson’s, straight up, in a smoked glass.  No no no.  My hand reaches out, spreads Gary’s fingers so that his palm lies open on the duvet. Fingers almost-numb with fear trace the skin. 

“You sure you’re not wasted?”

I snatch my hand away.  “The fuck?  No.”  I stand up and turn around, pacing between our beds.  My fingers prod my mouth and I bite at my nails.  I feel Gary eyeing me, but I won’t look back.  I can’t right now.  Rage blooms beneath my skin, crawls through my veins, threatens to explode.  No, can’t look over at him.  Need to make myself as small as possible, self-contained.  No other way.

 

// 2 a.m.

I stare at Gary on the bed.  He’s been asleep for the past half an hour.  The tequila bottle hasn’t moved.  And I’ve noticed that it’s not exactly empty—there’s an amber ring of liquid at the bottom, sluicing around the dimpled base.  It’s not much, maybe a fourth of a shot. 

 

// 2:47 a.m.

You can’t die from a fourth of a shot, can you?

I consider this from the chair at the foot of the bed, biting at my now raw thumb.  A fourth of a shot is about 12.5 mL. Or is that half a shot?  The last time I ate was at seven, so that means that most of the food I’ve had has already been digested.  But if maybe I run down to the vending machines and buy something with a bit of heaviness—crackers or biscuits or something—then that’ll slow its absorption, right?  Won’t that help?

I move to the mattress, staring at the bottle. I breathe in deeply and am shocked to feel the relief it brings to my twisted stomach.  Do I even have any cash on me?  Is there even a machine?  I thought I saw one at the end of the hall on the way up, but maybe that was just for drinks.  A Diet Coke might work, too, though—it would dilute it a lot, about 100 mL of Coke for every one of tequila.

 

// 2:59 a.m.

“Carl?”

I jump and glance over my shoulder.  Gary looks at me from his side, sleepy-drunk eyes smiling.  I blush, hand snatching the bottle from the bedside table. My fingers go to Gary’s lips and I pull them open.  They’re soft and pliant.  “Open your mouth, take the rest of this.”

Gary grunts, but I lean forward in earnest, pressing the round ring of glass to his mouth.  “Come on, please,” I insist, and I wrap an arm around Gary’s shoulders, lifting him so that he doesn’t choke on the alcohol.  I tilt the bottle and watch in desperation and relief as Gary’s neck pulses down the dregs.  I pull the bottle slowly from his lips, watch the soft flesh cling to the glass. 

I let the bottle fall onto the coverlet and move down lower, face to face with Gary.  My breath is heavy, and the current is back, roaring over my body, trembling my hands.  My mouth waters.  I press my nose to Gary’s and sink down next to him on the bed, locking his forehead to mine with a strong grip around his neck.  My nose, jaw, and tongue tingle until a tight pulse of saliva fills my mouth.  “I’m gonna sleep here, okay?” I mumble. 

Gary’s already falling back asleep.                                                       

“Mmm,” and I swipe my tongue over my own teeth.


End file.
